


angels, with their grey handshakes

by OAbsalom



Series: tails, i'm afraid [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blessings Are Just Poorly Disguised Temptations, Crowley Does Blessings, Joan of Arc - Freeform, The 15th Century Is Some Better, The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAbsalom/pseuds/OAbsalom
Summary: “There’s a poor girl who’s been suffering from epilepsy, bless her,” Aziraphale had told him when laying out the task. Crowley had shuddered at the angel’s language. “But I need you to use it our, er,our,” he pointed upward, “advantage. Just appear as a vision and put a couple of ideas in her head. I’m pretty sure the illness and a bit of ineffability will take care of the rest.”Or: Crowley appears before Joan of Arc
Series: tails, i'm afraid [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676125
Comments: 20
Kudos: 119





	angels, with their grey handshakes

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit: SORRY GUYS, I somehow forgot to officially mark this as part of the series. /facepalm**
> 
> Installment 3 of the collected works of The Arrangement - wherein Crowley and Aziraphale trade off their responsibilities. Will update every three to four days in the series [tails, i'm afraid](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676125).
> 
> Click [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291683) for Installment 1!  
> Click [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381935) for Installment 2!

Things were already going much better since the turn of the century, even this early in. It seemed like a lot was starting. Plenty of human affairs to snake his slender fingers into. Crowley watched as his bad job went very well. He’d taken advantage of a madman’s whims and pointed out a small commune on the Meuse that had been left unplundered. 

While Aziraphale had considered how well these two jobs lined up to be a stroke of heavenly luck, Crowley thought it was more likely to be a convenient coincidence. At any rate, he’d been watching the thieves strip the village of its valuables from the safety of a large hill. He was proud to have pulled off the thugs’ surprise attack on the peasants - so much chaos and confusion. Of all the things he liked to sow, chaos was one of his favorites. It _was_ really miraculous, however, that they weren’t burning the thatched roofs or killing or violating the citizens. It was probably because they wanted the place to produce more resources for plundering later. Yeah, that explanation would probably work. So clever and resourceful and evil, humans. 

He watched the bandits herd the hoards of livestock off into the countryside, then turned his attentions in toward the town itself. He was to look for someone in particular.

“There’s a poor girl who’s been suffering from epilepsy, bless her,” Aziraphale had told him when laying out the task. Crowley had shuddered at the angel’s language. “But I need you to use it our, er, _our_ ,” he pointed upward, “advantage. Just appear as a vision and put a couple of ideas in her head. I’m pretty sure the illness and a bit of ineffability will take care of the rest. ”

A little morbid, but Crowley could pull that off. The demon quite liked being a vision. It was one of the few things that overlapped identically between their two positions. The humans were always just as freaked out regardless of whose side he was coming from, and he got a kick out of that. Caused a fair amount of uproar, both while he was in costume and later among the populace.

Looking down at the distraught handful of - presumably tight-knit - humans, he began to see a bit of a complication in his plans. He widened his eyes to himself. Wasn’t like he could just stroll on in there and ask for the maid now. They probably weren’t too keen on strangers right this very second. He watched the mass of humanity huddle together, holding tight with nothing but one another’s lives, and felt pride in his own personal brand of evil. 

It took a couple of days to find her alone, but in the mild air and mottled sunlight that lay between the stacked-stone church and a modest family home, he came upon the girl sitting by herself. He straightened his doublet, but still doubted he’d come off as more than another frightening stranger. He needed to give the impression he was Heaven-sent, so he unfurled his wings. A gunmetal shine radiated from his ravenesque feathers in his peripheral vision, and he thought in irritation of the pearly (though often with something of the “dragged backward through a hedge” quality) wings of his enemies. Pursed lips considered his predicament. He hadn’t _forgotten_ , exactly - who forgets something like that? - it just wasn’t something he lingered on for any length of time, so it was easy to slip the mind. How was he supposed to erase the darkness from his wings?

_As if that isn’t going to be a question for all eternity…_

Less visibility, that’s what he needed. All that was needed to get the point across was the outline - a suggestion of something divine. Holy. Otherworldly. He snapped his fingers, and a blinding (well, not blinding, the girl still had to be able to _see_ , didn’t she?) light appeared in the small courtyard. Crowley was thankful for the bronze tented over his nose that held his dark lenses, but for a different reason than usual. In a quick motion, he slipped from behind the church wall and strafed in front of the light. The young woman threw her arm to her brow to shield her eyes from the glare, and the silhouette of Crowley stood out; a perfect portrait to identify him as a member of the opposite side. A partial eclipse of the glory of God.

He didn’t do “angel” often enough that the body language came to him easily, so he pictured Michael and Gabriel from the few times he’d had the misfortune to have to look at them. That felt oppressively pompous, though. He wanted to motivate the child, not make her feel like she was about to be burned at the stake for not having done the appropriate amount of paperwork. Okay, so tone it down just a little bit. He happened to know a good model for that behavior. Just had to do his best to stand simultaneously meekly yet authoritatively. Aziraphale had that mastered alright, but Crowley still had to put a decent amount of effort into it. Typically, he had the posture of someone much less stuck up.

“What vision is this that comes to me in such a manner!” The girl shouted and gathered her skirts up to run.

Humans were such fascinating creatures. Where did they ever think they were going to run, really? He snapped his fingers and mirrored himself to the other side of the courtyard. He held his hands out to the side in a defensive, hopefully comforting gesture. Some annoying realization eked out in his mind that he may have played himself a bit in the disguise arena, and his hand went up to pinch an invisible knob in the air. He turned it down a couple of ticks, and the light faded ever so slightly, allowing a few more of his features to bleed through. He folded his midnight wings in behind him and sat down on a nearby rock, sprawling his legs out as nonthreateningly as possible.

If she wasn’t afraid before, she definitely was now after his dramatic hop to the other side of the garden. She fell to the ground on her knees and covered her head. It was always awkward when they did that. Had to go and turn the entertaining mayhem into something weird.

“Uh. Listen, take it easy, would you? I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve been sent with instructions from Heee--eaven.” 

_Close call there, focus on what you’re doing, mate._

Gritted teeth followed his eyes as they looked both up _and_ down. He knew They couldn’t possibly be listening, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t make him the tiniest bit nervous. The unnoticed faux pas of calling someone the wrong name in the din of a rioting crowd. “There are a few things you need to do.”

“ _Do_ , sire? I am but I child - I’m not certain there’s much more I can do to help the Lord than to obey Him.”

_Don’t sell yourself short, kid._

“God can use you in a lot of ways, actually.” This wasn’t a lie. More like a sobering reality; but he thought it was probably better to let her interpret it how she liked. He leaned forward on his elbows and jerked his head back toward the village. 

“How about all these bad people, huh? Took all your cows and scared everybody. That’s not very nice, is it?” Was he being too patronizing to be a member of the God’s army, or not quite patronizing enough? What a line to figure out how to walk. 

She looked nervously in the direction of his gesture, then back at him. 

“‘Not very nice?’ They took everything we had,” she responded, her voice shakily growing in confidence. “Would that God visit them swiftly with His justice!”

Ah, there it was. The slightest, tiniest spark of Righteous Fury. Aziraphale had once tried to show him the fine line between it and Wrath. A brittle little line that glinted on the ground between them like spun glass. Crowley’s lips twitched up in a sly grin. 

“How do you suppose that justice should be brought?” Crowley’s motive wavered in the air of his heart like a reed in the wind. That fragile line was likely to snap under his feet if he wasn’t a bit more careful.

“Will you not bring it to us, angel?”

The accusation was harsh on his ears and made a sour taste peak on the sides of his tongue. No matter how many times it happened, he never did get used to the distaste. 

“I think _angel_ ’s a strong word. I’m just somebody that knows God.” 

_Knew. Knew God. Who knows God anymore?_

“No," he said, "you’re the one that’s gonna bring the justice you’re looking for. Not just for you, either. For the whole country even.”

She looked at him as though his head were on fire. He glanced up just to be certain it wasn’t. Nah, hadn’t slipped into that scene accidentally. Though it wasn’t unheard of, if he had to be perfectly honest. But what sort of a demon would he be if he had to be honest?

“How can I bring anyone justice if we now haven’t the means to live?” The question played with the boundaries of rhetorical, but Crowley thought he should answer it anyway.

“I have a feeling God will find a way to provide, petal.” Or, you know, someone would. The land _was_ feeling a bit more fertile than it had before. He let her sit in worried silence for a few moments before speaking again.

“You’ve got a lot to do. You’re ah - you’re gonna want to write this down.” He shifted side-to-side and looked around as though somehow he’d find a table and parchment arranged on the grass, quill and ink at the ready. Fingers raised to provide that very setup, but the girl’s reply cut him off at his intentions.

“I can neither read nor write, Saint. But I do have a memory tight as a casket of lead.”

Crowley rubbed his face. How old was this kid? Don’t… Aren’t they teaching the young ones to read yet? Oh well, it was only the first few steps that mattered anyway. Surely she would make the rest of it up, wasn’t that the point? They could always send Aziraphale back out to do some follow-up work if it didn’t go quite right.

The outline Aziraphale gave him was rough and vague, so Crowley did his best. Sure, it started out the way his friend had requested. Do her housework, be a good girl, be Christlike. All that sanctimonious bollocks. But it was bland and boring and not at all something that would inspire her misfiring neurons to the right sort of hallucinations. So the "Crowley the Messenger" jazzed it up a little bit instead.

“My ah, associates… Saints.” _Poor mad thing._ “They’ll come visit you and give you more details as time goes on. Even so, you’ll know when it’s time. It’ll hit you like a brick,” _Will it? Sure hope it will._ “Things are going to get real miserable for France for a while. And you’re just gonna need to run with it. Er, with what they tell you. You can help to stop some of these bad guys, if you just follow along.” 

He tried to imagine just what sort of things her brain would cook up, and a shiver of electric excitement crawled down his mischievous, demonic spine. He _could_ inject a little havoc in there as a treat for himself. “And really, whatever strikes your fancy, yeah? You’re protected by God, here. Just get mad with it.”

He thought about it a moment, then added, “Just avoid fringes. I’ve never met a person that’s caught a wild hair to give themselves a fringe and been pleased with the outcome. Trust me on that one. Everything else should work out fine.”

 _Yesss_ , Crowley thought with unimaginable relief on his way out of France (inspiring some additional aggression into the English as he went), the 15th century would definitely be more interesting than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Iron & Wine's _The Trapeze Swinger_
> 
> Click [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291683) for Installment 1!  
> Click [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381935) for Installment 2!  
> Click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676125) and subscribe to be notified of new fics added to the series!
> 
> Thank you to [Eturni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eturni) and [JoseyxNeko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joseyxneko) for keeping my Britishisms on track. <3


End file.
